


stay cool, it's just a kiss

by indecisively_yours



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan January Joy, F/M, High School Reunion, ~and beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisively_yours/pseuds/indecisively_yours
Summary: High school reunions suck when you live in a small town. Unless your old crush comes strolling back into town, along with those feelings you thought disappeared years ago.





	

The first thing Emma notices as she trails closely behind David and Mary Margaret into the rented out town hall, are the familiar faces that decided to attend their reunion. 

Granted, it’s not hard for the faces to all seem familiar to her, considering their little town in the middle of nowhere, Maine had the smallest senior class she’d seen in all her years in the foster system. 

The second thing Emma notices as she glues herself to David and Mary Margaret’s side in the town hall without that big of an open bar are the familiar sets of eyes staring back at her. 

She gets it, she does. She’s a sight to stare at, being the girl who disappeared before graduation and came back years later with a sealed juvenile record, a baby, and a bright yellow bug. 

If she has to endure one more positivity lecture from Mary Margaret (who organized the entire thing and dragged her here, against her will) she’s going to explode. 

So she makes a beeline for the bar area, ignoring the whispers along the way. Except the minute she gets there, she sees it’s not really a bar but more of a beverage area, with no booze in sight. 

“I can’t believe I skipped out on being a tenth level wizard for this,” Emma mutters under her breath. 

As the bartender hands her a glass of punch, he winks. She remembers him from her biology class, a boy too squeamish that he almost passed out when they cut the frog open. 

She picks up on the meaning behind wink as she takes a sip, a concoction that isn’t clearly just the kind of colorful sugary drink Henry likes to drink by the barrel. It’s as she turns and asks for a second glass that the whispers start again. 

She’s almost certainly convinced they’re about her, about the single mom returned to town that’s probably an alcoholic because she’s indulging just a bit too much on the spiked punch, until her eyes catch the movement by the door. 

It’s an all too familiar figure, clad head to toe in black, taking in the eyes the same way she did when she walked into the room. The room’s at a standstill as they watch Killian Jones, who does nothing but glance at them all in return. 

David reacts first, pushing through the crowds to approach him. As one goes for the handshake the other goes for the hug. Mary Margaret follows closely behind him. 

It isn’t until his presence seems to get her seal of approval that the crowd starts up again, people tearing their eyes away from him as they turn back to their own conversations. 

Emma doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until after the fact. As she turns back to her glass she curses ever stepping foot out of her house tonight.

///

It’s not that she doesn’t like Killian. She doesn’t really have anything against anyone except for that guy who thought yes meant no and wouldn’t leave her alone for an entire month. 

In fact, everyone in this room would be right in calling the two of them friends. You know, in between the whispering they can’t seem to stop doing as Killian and David continue to talk. 

Of course they are. Because when the conversation about the runaway ending up in juvie gets stale, talking about the guy who disappeared after graduation and cut all ties with the town is a great topic. 

She laughs to herself. If she said this to him, he’d get it. He was good like that, getting her when no one else did or really wanted to take the time to do so.

No, not in some typical cliche novel kind of a way but in an orphan being able to spot an orphan kind of way, and unless you’ve experienced abandonment first hand, you just don’t get it.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” the familiar voice of the familiar owner says, only deepened a bit by age and whatever the hell’s kept him occupied these last ten years. 

In the time it takes Killian to accept his glass of punch, her heart starts a drumming rhythm of its own, nowhere near in time with the drumming from whatever playlist runs through the speakers.

She wants to run. The feeling in the pit of her stomach, the ball of nerves that seems to lodge itself in her throat isn’t quelled by the spiked punch at all. She wants to run to the nearest bar and find something stronger. 

The face he makes as he takes a sip puts a smile on her face. It’s horrible, she knows, as if someone took the remnants of everything they had left in their liquor cabinet just to get the job done. 

“So,” Killian says around his second sip. His body leans closer to hers, just so, as his words wrap around the plastic cup. “What’s the customary wait time before asking if you want to get out of here?”

Well, it’s comforting to know that even with a stretch of time between them, they’re able to fall right back into their patterns from before. 

///

She blames the cold January air for the chain of events. One breeze pushes her against him. A second seems to freeze the tips of her fingers, making her regret ever leaving her jacket inside of her car. 

He offers to walk with her so that they can continue their talk, even though they haven’t said a word to one another since they stepped out of that hall. She accepts, if only to keep him around for a bit longer. 

The third breeze hits as she throws her car door open, threatening to fling the door open even more. He laughs, like long forgotten music to her ears, before standing between her door and her car to hold it in place. 

It’s a quiet moment of joy as she grabs the leather from the backseat, slipping it on despite the chill that clings to it. She should have grabbed her coat before she left, but she hadn’t planned on being there long from the start. 

The fourth breeze hits as she steps out of the car, weight of the door pushing him against her. She’s almost convinced by now that he can feel the drumming inside of her chest; if he does, he says nothing. 

Instead, he looks down at her, eyes glancing briefly at her lips before returning to her own. She takes that as a sign and she acts.

///

By patterns, she totally meant talking. She didn’t mean making out with him inside of her cramped yellow bug, because a) she didn’t have a yellow bug before and b) they never made out back then.

But she did think about it. Oh, she thought about it a lot. She thought about the way his lips would feel against hers, the way his hands would hold her close, whether they’d be hiding in some closet or in one of the forgotten aisles of the Storybrooke Library.

She thought about a lot of things involving Killian Jones and her, but she left them all behind the minute she left this town in her rearview mirror. Little did she know they’d be waiting for her upon her return.

///

It’s the groan that escapes his lips that makes her realize where they are. The little, “Emma,” he breathes against her lips as she grinds against him, lips fusing back together like they were still the teenagers who left this town years ago.

“What?” she asks him, lips pressing against whatever inch of skin she can find. She pulls away from him when she feels the roaming hand beneath her shirt slip out and take all its warmth with him.

She expects a,  _ We can’t _ , a simple,  _ This was a mistake _ , because those are the lines she’d use and they’re kindred spirits after all, so why wouldn’t he use them on her. 

His eyes shine something fierce, even with the dim light provided by one of the lone streetlights out here. She lets out a second breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding when he says, “Not yet,” and reaches out to tuck strand behind her ear. “Not like this.”

Well, that’s a first. She can’t help but laugh as it all dawns on her. How just a few minutes back in his presence had brought back all of those pent up emotions from years ago. 

The doubt creeps up into her in seconds, genuine laughter turning into something nervous as she throws the door open and steps out of the car. She sees now why, “This was a mistake,” always seems like the better option. 

False hope—especially when you’re the one receiving it—sucks. 

He follows her out the car in an instant, throwing the door closed behind him to follow her pacing steps. With a gentle hand on her cheek, he brings her to a stop. 

“I want you,” he tells her. There goes that drumming again, louder, almost deafening this time around. He surely must be able to hear it now, because it’s the only sound she can hear in the quiet surrounding them.

“Granny’s,” he says, pulling away from her just before her lips can find his again.  _ To talk _ , she thinks, and perhaps not to mention that confession that slipped from his lips.

///

She orders two hot chocolates with whipped cream and cinnamon, much to Killian’s delight. Some things have changed, like her lack of glasses and her hair being down more often than it isn’t, but her love for the drink hasn’t. 

As they sit on opposite sides of a booth, waiting for their drinks to arrive, Emma notices the reason for the heavy weight against her hip moments ago. A prosthetic lies where his left hand used to be. 

Before she can ask about what happened during his time away, the waitress on duty returns with two mugs. He beats her to the questions, anyway with a soft, “Why did you leave?” asked into his drink. 

She settles in her seat, rather uneasy, as she picks up her own mug. It’s a story she’s only ever shared with David and Mary Margaret, and even then that was only once, years ago. 

But it’s Killian, she reminds herself. Killian, who knows her like an open book, who knew about the demons in her head and the skeletons in her closet because he had a few of those himself. 

So she tells him about her fears, about leaving the one place that truly felt like home because like everything she ever loved in her life it’d be ripped away soon enough. Hurt them before they hurt you, right?

Except for Henry. God, Henry’s been the blessing and the exception to that rule. So she tells him about that, too. About the bastard who left her in jail and finding out she was pregnant and debating the adoption until a social worker named Ingrid offered to help her if she wanted it. 

She tells him about raising Henry alone all those years ago. About her pride keeping her from truly asking anyone for help. About how Ingrid offered it to her anyway and how the woman’s become like her mother now. 

He asks how she found herself back in Storybrooke after all these years and she tells him that, too. She tells him about the Facebook messages after Mary Margaret found her, about the late night calls with her and David and the job offer after Graham passed away. 

Halfway into their hot chocolate, she asks him about the years he lost touch with everyone. “David says you disappeared,” she tells him. “Even Liam fell off the face of the earth.”

His face falls at that. She wonders if she touched upon some forbidden topic—or worse. As she goes to apologize he shakes his head and tells her of his own laundry list of bad decisions. 

She finds out about the decision made to join the navy, how Liam approved of him following in his footsteps but then completely disapproved of many of his actions while out at sea. Like the actions that led to his discharge and loss of hand.

He doesn’t say more and she doesn’t push him because they’ve shared enough with so much time between them. After all, he’s only back for a night and she’s enjoying his company. 

“Where are you staying?” she asks before taking a slow sip of her drink. 

He answers with a quiet, “Here,” before he fishes into his pocket for something. She’s about ready to yell at him for trying to cover the bill when he pulls out a key.

_ Oh _ . She reaches for it once he sets it on top of the table and lets him know of her tab before getting up and heading toward the back. It’s not long before he follows.

///

The headboard bangs against the wall as the bed frame squeaks. She can’t think about anything else but the way Killian looks above her, muscles tensing as he thrusts into her. 

She thanks the stars and the universe and every planet that aligned that made him into this attentive lover, one that lavished her with his mouth to bring her as close to completion before she guided him inside her.

She’s jealous of the woman who’ll get to have him every day, of the person who’ll get all his attention once they leave here tonight. In another life, it could have been her. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks quickly, and she realizes a tear or two have slipped out from her eyes. “Am I hurting you?” She wipes them away quickly, shaking her head as she urges him to continue. He does, picking up speed, reaching for her hand to lace their fingers together. 

The slapping of skin against skin joins the bangs and the squeaks until he groans, feeling her tighten around him as she comes. He warns her of his own climax, shifting to pull out of her, but she shakes her head and keeps him close, urging him to stay. 

When he’s done, thrusts turned into an erratic rhythm by then, he collapses on top of her and presses a kiss to the skin just above her breast. She’d take some of that false hope by now, instead.

///

She waits until she feels his rhythmic breathing beneath her head before she slowly pulls herself away from him.  _ It’ll hurt less this way _ , she tells herself. Better to hurt than be hurt. 

She’ll go home, press a kiss to Henry’s head, and then tuck herself into bed as she crosses this off of the ‘What If’ list. She knows, no what ifs required. No more random nights losing sleep over whether or not she’d ever get what David and Mary Margaret have.

She knows the answer by now, no need for the universe to remind her of that. Time’s never been on her side before and it surely wouldn’t be on her side now.

Once dressed, she sits down on his side of the bed. He doesn’t move, sheets still pooled at his hips as he sleeps with his stump tucked underneath his pillow. 

If she’s thankful for at least one thing in her time in jail, it’s for all the time she had to think. About the ups and downs of her life. About whether or not she’d be okay as a teenaged mother. About him. 

God, she spent a lot of time thinking about him, back before she had made up her mind on keeping Henry. She wondered if things would be different had she stayed. 

“I used to love you before,” she whispers in the darkness of the room, fingers idly tracing the outline of the necklace on his chest. “I still do.”

She disappears like a thief into the night. As she gets home and tucks herself into bed,Henry tucked in once more after she’s showered, she comes to one realization.  _ It still hurts. _

///

It takes exactly one week for everyone to stop talking about the dreaded reunion. In that time, it takes everything in Emma to stop thinking about Killian. 

He might be off of  _ that _ ‘What If’ list, but he still remains in the other one. What if she had just taken his number? What if she had just stayed until morning?

It doesn’t help that the town’s abuzz with the new position filled and everyone asking Emma if she knows because she’s sheriff and Emma biting back her tongue as she reminds them that she’s not mayor. 

She gives up on a case file after her third attempt at trying to read the same paragraph and while she wishes she could blame the fact that it’s Monday, she can’t. 

“Emma!” David’s voice echoes within the station. Groaning, frustrated, she shuts the file and pushes the manila folder aside, calling it quits for today. “Emma, the new harbormaster’s stopped by to introduce himself!”

_ That’s it _ , she decides. She grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and plans to spend the rest of the day patrolling. At least now when the townsfolk do stop her to ask her about this new position filled, she’ll have some answers. 

In the time it takes her to pull her jacket on and fix her hair, David’s already entered the small area, laughing along to something this new harbormaster’s said. She freezes as she catches sight of him. 

“Oh, fuck,” Emma mutters, taking in the sight of Killian in all his black and leather jacket-clad glory. 

“Now Swan, is that any way to greet an old friend?” he says, and God dammit, he even has the audacity to wink at her when David looks away. 

Looks like she might be getting answers to those  _ what ifs _ after all. And here she thought time wasn’t on her side, that the planets would never align for her.

Go figure.

**Author's Note:**

> day sixteen of cs january joy! find me over at themmaswan on tumblr!


End file.
